As a tot I remember being aware that I was able to 'feel' and 'see' things out of the norm, but growing up in an atheist/agnostic family it wasn’t really something that was mentioned over our roasties on a Sunday. There was a definite: ‘she’s at it again’ muttering every now and again, but that’s as far as it went.
I was vaguely aware that a great-grandmother had been clairvoyant and worked in a pub doing readings with playing cards and tea leaves and the like. ‘Ah! That explains it then!’ But still I shrugged it off and set about in search of a ‘normal’ existence.
Alas, a so-called normal-and-proper life was not to be. It was for a while, but on that fateful Friday my body/mind/spirit had had enough of me sauntering off in the opposite direction to where I was meant to be going, and sanctioned other plans.
Friday night, glued to my bed, I thought I was dying.
‘This is it. I’m toast,’ I concluded. Although I wasn’t particularly afraid of dying, I would get to see my big sis again after all, I had no desire to:
‘I’ve got loads to get cracking on with yet Big G, don’t take me!’ I beseeched.
The medical establishment was summoned, and a thorough examination followed.
‘You’ve got ‘flu’. Mr Doc said.
‘Whhhhhaattttt??!! No I bloody haven’t,’ said I.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘This isn’t ‘flu - I’m fookin’ DYING! I need to go to hospital tout suite Doc!’
‘No dear. You’ve just never had influenza before. Rest up, fluids, it’ll be a while before you feel your normal self. Here’s some paracetamol.’
I was gobsmacked. This? 'Flu? Foooookin feckeety feck feck.
I mean, great that I wasn’t about to start playing the harp with religious abandon but this ‘flu lark was something else. No wonder people kicked the bucket with regularity in yesteryear. Even standing was a drama. And reading? Talking? Functioning? HA! Not a chance.
For the next two years, the me I knew was gone.
.
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